Crazy With Love
by supremegreendragon
Summary: Watson finds himself dealing with a mentally unbalanced stalker. Eventual WatsonxHolmes, onesided StalkerxWatson Warning: OOC will ensue
1. Chapter 1

Watson walked into the brick building, cane in hand and hung his hat on a hook attached to the wall. He made his way to where his colleague, Dr. Anstruther was perched on his desk, peering through papers.

A small twinge on Watson's lips as he looked at the man before him. Anstruther sure was a very helpful man, always taking the time to help Watson with his practice whenever Watson went on a case with Holmes. But now Watson was wondering if he had a life outside work.

It took a few minutes for Anstruther to realize that he wasn't alone. His eyes met Watson's and he offered a plain smile.

"Ah. Good day to you then."

Watson nodded.

"And to you as well. Tell me. Has there been any new calls?"

Their work had strangely not been very busy the past few weeks. It was odd, considering the winter weather should've caused more illnesses. Not that Watson wanted anyone to get sick. But it was strange.

"No," Anstruther answered simply, "So far there has been absolutely nothing new going on. Except that we have a new doctor on our hands. But no new patients."

"A new doctor?" Watson repeated, his curiosity rising.

The other man motioned towards the door that lead to an empty room they used for private conversations, whether it be between them or patients.

"He's just starting today. Not much for talking, I'm afraid. He told me his name was Ken Fellowmen and then excused himself. Said to tell him if there's any calls. He was polite enough though I get the feeling he doesn't prefer company."

Watson looked at him, then back at the door.

"Well I suppose I should introduce myself," he thought aloud, since obviously they weren't going to be very busy today.

Anstruther followed his gaze to the door.

"Well alright then. Perhaps you can open him up better than I could. You seem to have a gift for befriending even the most aloof of people."

"What makes you say so?" Watson glanced at him confused.

The other man shrugged as if the answer was simple enough.

"Why I could only assume you have such a gift. After all, I don't know of anyone else who's managed to befriend Sherlock Holmes. He's a very distant man, you must admit."

He didn't know if Anstruther meant that as a compliment or not. Either way, Watson couldn't help but feel slightly flattered at the words. It was true that it had taken some effort to befriend Holmes.

And much more effort to continue being as close as he was with him. Holmes had a brilliant mind but he was trying sometimes, especially in his dark moods. A mood which was, unfortunately, overtaking the detective at this very moment.

The man had been dangerously bored due to the lack of cases. He refused to go outside, instead opting to waste away in his chair, fiddling with his pipe and playing on his violin. Watson could only hope that he wouldn't decide to occupy his time with the syringe anytime soon.

Perhaps it would be better not to think about it, Watson decided. After hearing Anstruther's comments about his knack to open people up, he was interested to see if he could befriend this Fellowmen chap.

Watson excused himself and went through the door, closing it behind him. Immediately he saw a man facing away from him and out towards the window. Watson couldn't judge very well what the man looked like from behind. Though his slick dark hair and towering height instantly reminded him of Holmes.

It didn't seem like he heard Watson come in so Watson decided to make his presence known.

"Excuse me. Are you Dr. Fellowmen?"

There was a moment's pause before the man in question turned around, revealing his face. He had a very sharp look about him. His nose was long and his eyebrows were very thin. He had high cheek bones and a somewhat defensive air about him.

But what really struck Watson were the man's eyes. They were blue but nothing like the blue he had seen in other people. They were much deeper in color, almost like paint. Watson could actually consider them beautiful. In fact he was so impressed by them that the only thing stopping Watson from complimenting the man was the fact that Dr. Fellowmen was not a woman.

Watson hadn't realized he had been staring so intently into the man's eyes until the man gave him a strange look. Slightly embarrassed, Watson averted his gaze. A small smile crept up on the other doctor's lips.

"Why yes. I am Ken Fellowmen," he said in a deep, rich voice, "And to who do I owe the pleasure?"

Watson edged closer so that they could shack hands. The war veteran felt himself becoming more confident from the friendly look he was receiving from Fellowmen.

"I am Dr. John Watson. My, dare I say it but you seem awfully young."

Watson guessed that the man had to be at least eight years younger than he was. Somewhere in his early twenties no doubt.

Fellowmen's eyes lit up as he let out a soft laugh.

"That was the first thing Dr. Anstruther said to me as well. I'm glad to hear it though. It pays to work so diligently in your studies in order to graduate as the youngest in your class."

The two let go of each other's hands and began talking. Watson told Fellowmen a bit about himself, including that he lived with the famed detective and wrote his biographies. Whenever Watson tried to tell Fellowmen more about Holmes the man would lose interest and divert the conversation so that Watson was talking about himself once more.

After awhile, Watson looked up at the clock. He was astonished to see that an hour had gone by.

"That's really the time? And still no one seems to need to be taken care of."

"Here we are, just standing around and chatting," Fellowmen laughed, "Surely there must be something we can do."

The dark haired man walked towards the bookshelf that had collected a substantial amount of dust and not too many books. He reached over with both hands but Watson couldn't see what he was doing.

"Perhaps we could at least clean up this room. It would certainly be in everyone's best interest if there wasn't any-" a hiss and then a swore from his mouth cut off the sentence.

Fellowmen withdrew his hands with one hand holding the other. He turned around and Watson saw the blood dripping from one hand being collected by the other unwounded hand.

In a flash, Watson went over to inspect it.

"Oh my. That is a pretty heavy cut. We need to treat that immediately."

Fellowmen didn't protest as Watson pushed his shoulder gently and led him out of the room. Anstruther was not at his desk or anywhere in sight for that matter. But Watson didn't figure his whereabouts were of too much concern at the moment.

Watson motioned for Fellowmen to sit down as he dug for supplies from the shelves behind the desk. Grabbing some alcohol and bandages, he took a chair besides Fellowmen's.

"Do we really need the alcohol?" Fellowmen asked half-jokingly but Watson could tell he was very unhappy to see it.

Watson grabbed his bleeding hand.

"I'm sorry my friend but a cut that deep needs to be disinfected. You should know this."

And with that he poured just a little bit of alcohol on a cotton ball and rubbed it very gently on the wound. Fellowmen hissed softly but didn't resist or protest in anyway.

Watson tried to be as quick as possible. When he finished he wrapped the bandage around Fellowmen's palm. He inspected his handy work to make sure it wouldn't leak. Fellowmen twisted his hand around so that it could hold onto Watson's.

Watson was confused by this sudden action. He was also truthfully slightly unnerved but he didn't voice it. Fellowmen flashed a smile.

"My! I owe you my deepest gratitude, John! Next time I won't be so clumsy."

"John?" Watson repeated.

Not even Holmes called him by his first name. Fellowmen got out of his chair, while still holding onto Watson's hand.

"Say old fellow? Would you perhaps join me for a drink later this evening? It's the least I can do."

His tone was so light and friendly that Watson was immediately inclined to say yes. However something was stopping him. The eyes. He couldn't put his finger on it but the eyes seemed...dangerous.

He shook it off. Perhaps his eyes were just naturally sharp, like the rest of his character.

Perhaps Anstruther had been wrong? Dr. Fellowmen didn't seem the least bit aloof.

"Well I'm sure it was something you yourself could've easily done," Watson stated, "But of course I would like to join you. How about the pub on Glentworth?"

Fellowmen easily agreed, causing Watson to smile. Watson stood up and tried to pull his hand away but, to his surprise, couldn't as Fellowmen didn't seem to want to let go.

Watson gazed into his eyes, seeking an explanation. None came. Fellowmen just gave him a strange look before letting go.

The first signs of concern were beginning to form inside Watson. Something seemed strange about this man. However, he brushed the feeling off. No need to get paranoid for no reason. Fellowmen hadn't done anything to make him feel that way.

x

Later that day Watson found himself walking back to Baker Street, satisfied with his new friend. Fellowmen was a very agreeable sort, laughing at all of Watson's jokes with a twinkle in his eye, telling a little about his family whenever Watson asked and listening attentively whenever Watson spoke.

Watson sighed sadly. Now if only Holmes could be that agreeable...

With a heavy heart he entered his home, and unsurprisingly the first thing that happened was Mrs. Hudson rushing towards him with a pained look on her face.

"He's locked himself again, Doctor. I'm at my wit's end! He won't eat his dinner and I know he hasn't eaten all day."

The gentleman put his hands on Mrs. Hudson's shoulders in an attempt to reassure her.

"Now I'm sure he's just going through another one of his moods. Let me see if I can get him to eat."

"I do hope you can doctor," sighed Mrs. Hudson as she handed him the tray of food, "I'll get yours ready soon."

Watson nodded his thanks and went upstairs. Knowing Holmes would be in the room where he liked to experiment, Watson knocked on the door.

"No Watson! As I told Mrs. Hudson I am not hungry," the voice called out.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Mrs. Hudson doesn't wear oxford dress shoes."

'Ah! The sound of my footsteps,' Watson thought.

"Holmes, she told me you haven't eaten all day. Now am I going to have to break the door?"

For a while there was no response, until the door swung opened by an annoyed Holmes.

"Ah! So now there are two nannies in this building. Well I obviously can't compete with that. Hand it over."

Ignoring the sting of the words, Watson gave him the tray. Mrs. Hudson came up immediately after, and Watson guessed that she was waiting in the background. She smiled appreciatively and handed another tray to Watson.

Holmes had a scowl on his face when he set down on one of the chairs, tray in hand. Watson followed his example, choosing to sit on the couch by the bookshelf.

The two ate in silence. Watson thought about how he was going to tell Holmes about his meeting with Fellowmen. Knowing how Holmes was in this mood, he might as well tell him he's planning to spend the evening somewhere other than here.

It seemed like it was going to be another uneventful evening, until Mrs. Hudson came back to inform Holmes that a client wanted to see him.

A sudden interest sparked in Holmes' eyes. He instructed her to let him in. The client was a young man, about 18. He told both Holmes and Watson that his six year old sister suddenly went missing.

Apparently they were orphans, so the client was her guardian. Holmes, eager for a case, shot out of his seat.

"Consider this case already solved!" he exclaimed with a dramatic change in mood.

Watson was glad to see his friend in better spirits. Quite honestly he was interested in the case as well. He barely triggered that Holmes already had his coat on and was looking at Watson expectedly.

"Well, aren't you coming, Watson?"

The young man had already left to get a cab. Watson was stood up as well, unsure of how to decline...

In all actuality he didn't want to decline but he did agree to go with Fellowmen...

But now that he thought about it, they could always reschedule. Fellowmen was a reasonable person, he was sure to understand.

"Of course, Holmes. But let me send a telegram first..."

x

The case proved very interesting. The girl had been kidnapped by a crazy woman who insisted she was her daughter. Even the eyes of this woman were hysterical, wide open and almost unblinking. Watson shuddered when he saw them.

It was a good thing that Holmes was able to find them in a run-downed building that used to be a house. The woman clung the crying girl to her chest, screaming that she wouldn't let anyone take her away.

It was a messy affair, and took all three Holmes, Watson and the gentleman to hold her down as she was flailing so much. They waited until the medics came and took her to an asylum.

It was well into the morning by the time the whole affair was through. Holmes was smiling, looking refreshed like he had just had an excellent massage. Watson was happy to see him this way.

When they returned to Baker Street, Holmes went to take a bath. Watson sat down in his armchair, thoroughly exhausted. Mrs. Hudson walked up to him with a letter in her hand.

"This is for you, doctor," she informed handing him the letter.

With tired fingers Watson took it. He arched an eyebrow when he realized that there was no return address. Odd. Who was sending him a letter?

Oh well, no matter. He figured he would find out soon enough. Opening the envelop, he began to read, his calm expression slowly turning to confusion, then to horror as he did so.

_Dearest John,_

_Do you remember me? We went to the same boarding school. I always looked up to you, watching as you played with other children your age._

_I must admit I was jealous of anyone who had your attention. Your beautiful eyes is only one thing that makes you so attractive. Even men can see that._

_The day you left was the worst day of my life. I found out you had graduated but I didn't know where you were going. I was so upset I shut myself in my room for days on end. You would disapprove of this, my John, because I know how caring you are but during that time I took to cutting myself. I vowed to make one slash on my arm each day I didn't see you. I had to stop on the thirty-third because I ran out of bandages. And I had no interest in explaining to Mum what happened._

_I managed to fool her until her unfortunate death. Even today, now that I'm a grown man, the scars from the cuts I had inflicted upon myself remain. Don't you see how much I am willing to hurt to have you?_

_Please don't think I'm crazy. I'm just a man in love. One day we will move into a nice house together, just the two of us, in a place faraway from all the negative judgment we will surely receive about our love. I promise to make love to you every night, hold you forever and never let go._

_Do not tell anyone about this letter, or those that will come in the future. Do not tell your detective friend about me. I don't want anything in the way of our love. If you do tell someone, I will not be responsible for what I do next. You hate it when people have to die, don't you? My sweet angel._

_I was so glad to have finally found you again. Each breath I take is one breath closer to claiming you as mine. And I love how you matured into a very fine looking man. But of course you were always handsome._

_However, I don't like your mustache. It hides your beautiful face too much. So I must request that you shave it off. You will do this for me John, won't you?_

_I love you so much. God! How I love to write that down. And soon my dear, you'll be hearing it from my very lips._

_Until we meet_

_-Your future lover_

* * *

__An old fic that I have yet to complete.


	2. Chapter 2

Watson splashed a bit of water on his face, trying to wake up from this nightmare. The letter could be just some cruel joke but he didn't dare risk the lives of others on speculation. He stared at the mirror, the razor in his hand.

His first thought, after reading the letter, was Holmes. He would be able to find this freaky character without any problem at all. But if Watson told the detective and people ended up dying because of it, Watson would never forgive himself. He didn't want to risk others' safety to make himself feel secure.

He brought the razor to his lips with dread but then he stopped. If he did shave off his mustache, Holmes would question. And a Holmes with questions led to answers, which in this case would be the reason why Watson had the sudden urge to shave. Watson couldn't risk Holmes finding out. He put the razor back down.

It was time for work. Watson dressed into relatively clean clothes and left the building. Thankfully, it hadn't been too busy at work so perhaps Watson could get some rest there. No sleep could really drain a man.

When he reached his workplace, he saw Fellowmen at Anstruther's desk. The man was writing something down on a piece of paper and when Fellowmen noticed Watson, he stuffed the paper in his pocket. Watson offered him a weary smile.

"Good morning. I am sorry that we couldn't have a drink last night."

Fellowmen stood up with a grin. His painted eyes seemed even sharper than yesterday.

"Not a problem, my good fellow. But pray tell, you will come drink with me tonight? I won't accept no for an answer."

Watson gave a stout laugh.

"Wouldn't dream of it. By the way, where's Anstruther?"

"Oh, it hasn't been too busy so he went out for some errands. But look at you. Poor devil. You look like you're about to collapse."

Fellowmen walked up to Watson and placed his hand on the other man's shoulder. He gently guided him to the seat. Watson let him show this odd display of affection. He had seen stranger actions coming from Holmes.

After Watson took a seat, a whole new level of sleepiness took him, as if the simple action of sitting down relaxed him enough to become even more tired. Fellowmen pulled up a chair next to him and the two began to talk.

Fellowmen's voice was rich and silky, so very soothing to the ear. Watson couldn't pay attention to what he was actually saying. Before long, Watson was out like a light.

When he woke up, he realized he was on one of the patient's bed. He sat himself up and looked around. Why was he here?

"Oh? You didn't sleep for long."

Fellowmen came up, looking slightly miffed for a second before smiling.

"Why am I on this bed?" Watson asked.

"You fell out of your seat. I was worried you were too tired to work. I brought you here to get you more comfortable. You've only been asleep for a few minutes. I thought you would be out for at least an hour by how tired you looked."

Watson stood up. Fellowmen did have his best interest at heart but he shouldn't be sleeping on the job.

x

Watson was reading the paper but his thoughts were light-years away from it. His thoughts trailed back to the letter he had received. He had to find this culprit on his own. Somehow. Someway.

Holmes was fiddling with his violin, not exactly playing it. He was just plucking at the strings as if he was performing some sort of experiment. The two had been silent ever since Watson returned home. Holmes's eyes were deep in thought, his lips forming a soft frown.

Suddenly, Holmes set the instrument down. He took a long, hard look over at his friend.

Questions filled Watson's head. Why was Holmes looking at him that way? Why did he suddenly stop 'playing' the violin? The detective's eyes were examining him closely.

What if he already found out about the letter? Watson was both happy and fearful that this might be the case. If Holmes did already know, then that would save Watson the trouble of deciding whether or not to tell him and then Holmes could help him catch this maniac.

But, thought Watson with a frown, if Holmes did know and the culprit found out and killed someone for it, Watson would feel responsible for that person's life. Holmes must have notice that his friend was pondering over something, Holmes's lips curled ever so slightly.

"Watson. The very young gentleman who we've helped last night invited us to a free meal. Would you be interested in joining me for dinner?"

It was an innocent enough invite but the way Holmes nearly tripped over his own words made Watson wonder if there was more to it.

"Can the lad afford to pay for us? He's barely a man, after all," Watson asked himself out loud.

"Not to worry, old fellow," Holmes said non-chantedly, "The restaurant in question belongs to his family. Apparently he's quite the chief and he owns it. It's a small place but I've heard some good comments on it."

"He'll give us a free meal? It won't be a burden to him, will it?"

"If it would he wouldn't have offered. So...will you join me? Six o' clock tomorrow evening?"

A nice dinner with Holmes did sound tempting, as long as Holmes was in a good mood of course. Holmes appeared to be not so gloomy as he had been the last few days and Watson would enjoy spending some time with the man outside of the flat.

"That sounds delightful, Holmes. I will be there."

Watson looked up at the clock, got out of his seat and went to put on his coat.

"Where are you off to?" Holmes asked, sounding a little bit annoyed.

"I'm meeting a friend for a drink. Would you like to come?"

Holmes slumped in his chair, almost as if he were sulking.

"No. Go ahead."

Now what did Watson do? The doctor asked himself. Holmes was too unpredictable in his emotions. Watson put on his hat.

"I'll come back soon."

"By all means, take your time."

The way Holmes said it he might as well have said 'and don't come back.'"

x

Watson made it to the pub exactly on time. He saw that Fellowmen was waiting for him inside. The man notice Watson coming in instantly and he waved at him. Watson made his way over to the table and sat down next to his new friend.

"Hello there. You look well."

"And you do too, Dr. Watson. You look much better than earlier. Are you rested then?"

Watson had taken a nap after coming home which really helped him get more energy. The war veteran nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Well there's a big dance coming up soon close to where we work, Watson. Do you have someone you're planning on going with?" Fellowmen asked, sharp eyes gleaming in the dim-lit room.

Watson ordered a pint before turning to his friend to respond.

"No. I'm afraid I'm still single. What about you? Have you a lover?"

Fellowmen stared off into the distance, deep in thought.

"No," he finally said, "So far there has been no woman to hold my interest."

Watson could certainly understand this. Holmes was exactly the same way. He always felt that one lucky lady would charm him though. One of these days.

"My friend Holmes also can't find interest in the finer sex. Why, just the other day there was this woman who-"

"Tell me. How have you been doing lately? Have you been eating well? If you don't mind me saying so, you look a bit thin."

This had happened before. Watson talking about Holmes but Fellowmen turning the discussion away from his good friend. He had no idea why Fellowmen didn't want to talk about him.

x

Watson got a good night's sleep, mostly due to the alcohol in his system. He forgot all about that little scare in the letter.

Until Mrs. Hudson came to his bedroom door and showed him another letter without a return address. The man felt his heart rise to his chest. He tried to stay calm as he accepted the letter, close the door and practically tore it open.

_Dearest John,_

_You haven't shaved off your mustache yet. Why is this, my love? Why do you disobey me? It makes me angry when that happens. Please, please do as I say and let me see your beautiful face. If you don't then someone will die._

_My love. You're mine forever. Don't think you can escape from me. I love you._

_-Your future lover._

x

This time there was no hesitation in Watson's movements as he applied the shaving cream and took the razor in hand. With excellent skill granted to him through years of practice as a surgeon, he shaved his mustache off entirely.

Looking in the mirror reminded him of why he had grown facial hair in the first place; he had a very boyish face. Suddenly he looked even younger than Fellowmen.

After washing himself up, Watson left the washroom and collapsed in his chair, a distressed hand pressing up against him forehead. How was he going to explain this to Holmes? Unless the detective became blind before they saw each other he had to think of something.

He could tell him he just wanted a new look. But Holmes would know his decision would have been a rather impulsive one. And Watson wasn't one to act before thinking.

A sudden anger crept inside him. Perhaps the feeling had always been there and was only now making itself known.

Here he was, following this man's every whim, like he was some dog. Perhaps he wouldn't have Holmes' help but he was hardly defenseless on his own.

There was no time to wait. Determination surging through him, Watson hastily stood up, wrote a note for Holmes and left the safe confines of his home.

The minute he was outside, paranoia rattled inside his brain but he forced himself not to think anxious thoughts. He called for a hansom, which one came fairly soon. While sitting inside and waiting for it to take him to his destination, Watson started thinking about the past.

_He was sitting in class with a pen in hand. Though he wasn't paying attention to the lecture at all. As a matter of fact, his sole focus was on the back oh his friend, Gary Imhoff._

_Imhoff was very tall and lanky for someone of fifteen years. He had a genuine smile that spread from his lips to his eyes, causing anyone who witnessed it to feel a small tinge of happiness themselves. Watson had idolized Imhoff ever since the two met. Imhoff was the best at physical activities, though he wasn't too bright. But he was about the friendliest person that Watson ever known._

_Yes, Imhoff charmed Watson quite a bit..._

Watson was snapped from his thoughts when the hansom stopped. He paid the fare and went inside his old boarding school, the very building that he hadn't been inside of since he graduated from it.

What a sight he must've been, since he wasn't part of staff or a parent. Fortunately, he remembered exactly where the reception desk was. A man in glasses, who had previously been doing some paper work, looked up at the newcomer curiously.

"Good evening. I don't recall ever seeing you here before. What can I help you with," he set his pin down, twiddling his thumbs.

"Yes, my name is John Watson. I was a student here in my earlier years. This may sound like a strange request but...is there any chance I might see...records of the people who had attended here?"

The man frowned at him.

"I'm sorry sir but records here are strictly confidential."

"...I couldn't even know the names?" Watson felt himself going into despair.

The man in glasses shook his head swiftly.

"No sir, we can't allow you to do that. Were you hoping to track down an old friend? Because if so then this isn't the place where you would be able to find him."

Watson couldn't tell him that he didn't know who it was he was searching for. There was no helping the situation if he got questioned from a stranger. He bowed his head apologetically.

"I see. Thank you for your time. Good day."

He left the building feeling empty safe for the wave of dread inside him. Investigation wasn't going to be so easy after all.

Once outside, Watson pondered his options. He could return to Baker Street but he didn't want to give up so easily. Yet what else should he do...

"John? Is that you?"

Watson snapped his head into the direction of the voice. A smiling Fellowmen was rushing up to him with his arms buried underneath his jacket. It looked a bit childish and Watson couldn't help but smile.

"A little cold, are you?"

Fellowmen beamed at him, still not taking his hands out.

"Look at you! You look quite a deal different than when I saw you last night."

Watson's smile fell as he squelched a sigh. But before he could say anything on the matter, Fellowmen continued.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hiding such a nice face under there? You must have broken so many hearts when you were in boarding school."

This struck Watson cold.

"Boarding school? Why do you say that specifically?"

"Well, you were just in your old boarding school, weren't you? I saw you come out," Fellowmen answered without hesitation, his smile still very much intact despite Watson's obvious distress.

Watson looked at the building and then back at Fellowmen.

"How do you know I went to this boarding school?"

This time, Fellowmen's lips twitch slightly but they recovered into a smile. He laughed cheerfully.

"Well, I could only assume you must be visiting your old boarding school, rather than any other. Why would you go to another if you don't have a child?"

Watson did mention to Fellowman that he lived alone with Holmes and the landlady. He could see then how Fellowmen knew he didn't have any children. But Watson was still on the alert. An idea entered his mind quickly and he executed it before putting in too much thought.

"I see. Well that makes sense then," Watson faked a laugh, "I do apologize for seeming off today. By the way, the most interesting thing happened to me right after I left the pub. I met this most charming woman."

Fellowmen's entire face fell. Or perhaps that wasn't the right word. It was more like his once gleeful expression crashed and shattered like a vase had been thrown against the solid wall. Watson noted that Fellowmen's painted eyes were wide and sad for a moment before they narrowed slightly.

"A woman? Do tell me more John," his voice was light but he said it like it was a command.

"She was trying to sell me some flowers," the lie poured from his lips as delicately as silk, "I was so much taken by her beauty that I was directly inclined to speak with her. Her name is Mary. She's an extremely intelligent woman and very ladylike as well. I asked her to dine with me this Tuesday."

When those brilliant blue eyes flashed in dangerous jealousy, Watson knew he had found his man. There was a very sickening feeling in his stomach, not only because someone like Fellowmen turned out to be the mad man but also because Watson was already standing face-to-face with his obsessive stalker.

Fellowmen's hand peaked out of his jacket, revealing the very tip of a pistol. Watson forced himself to remain calm. There were many people walking around, not realizing the danger that they were in and the doctor would not risk anyone's life.

The hand retreated back inside the jacket. Fellowmen frowned at him.

"I think, John, that perhaps we should discuss this in a more private area."

All the humor in his voice was gone. No one else noticed the exchange between the two men. Watson's mind search frantically for options, though his expression was still calm enough.

He could try to snatch the pistol away from Fellowman. But even the slightest mistake could cause someone to get shot, intentionally or not.

Calling for help would be just as dangerous. The craze man would surely follow and shoot whoever was in his way.

Watson's heart sank. So there was only one choice.

* * *

Sorry this is so late. Well, here's an update. The original chapter had Watson acting too much like a scared woman, so I hope this one is a little bit better. Tell me what you think.


	3. Chapter 3

Fellowmen used his free hand to take hold of Watson's. The other hand was hidden away safe from the cold, holding the dangerous weapon. To anyone looking they would simply appear to be two friends walking with each other.

Watson let Fellowmen hold his hand and lead him somewhere more private. While walking, Fellowmen daringly stroked their thumbs together and if anyone were to notice, the sight would be odd to them. Watson felt disgusted that the mad man was stroking his hand so lovingly. He had half a mind to tell Fellowmen to stop.

The two men walked down an abandoned ally between an old tavern and a pet store. There were wooden planks and abandoned bricks everywhere. Watson thought they could make a nice weapon if worse came to worse. Fellowmen dragged Watson until they reached a dead end, then he brought his gun back out with a smile.

"John, I was hoping you wouldn't find out about me this soon. But it's of no concern now. If you will kindly let me take you to my lovely home, then I won't hurt anyone. Are we agreed?"

Anger flashing, Watson's hands curled up to fists by his side.

"Regrettably, threats won't help me take a fancy to you. If you hurt someone then I will never stop hating you."

The smile on the crazed man fell. Fellowmen looked down on the floor, as if Watson's heated stare was too much to bear. He recovered, however, and dared to look back at Watson. He pressed the gun onto Watson's forehead, testing the limits. Watson thought about snatching the gun from him but he was afraid Fellowmen would fire the gun before he had the chance. One shot to the head was all that it took.

So Watson just stood there, holding his ground. Fellowmen examined him closely. He must have been interested to see what Watson would do. Fellowmen's eyes glowed with a sense of greed. As if what he was seeing in front of him was a million pounds and it was all his to take.

"Do you remember me? Back in boarding school? I would watch you so closely. I would watch you read underneath a tree and run around with other boys. How I envied them. They could talk to you. I wanted you even before I even developed a sexuality. I must have been ten when I first saw you and knew I had to have you. John, do you remember me?"

"I have never seen you," Watson told him slowly and firmly.

But Fellowmen didn't seem to hear him.

"You left just when I was starting to fantasize about you in bed. The things I would think about would make you blush, I'm sure. It was all in my head. You naked in my bed, pleasuring yourself and screaming my name. I wanted you so much it hurt. My manhood would be aching when I woke up every morning because you filled my dreams. I wanted to introduce myself to you and befriend you. Then I would convince you to make love to me, then we would live happily together and make people think we were merely friends living together. Or brothers."

Watson didn't want to hear any of this. The gun was still pressed against his temple. If he could just get Fellowmen to lower his weapon, he could make his move.

"You mean like me and Holmes? Just flatmates."

Jealousy sparked through Fellowmen's features.

"What's going on between you two? Do you-"

"He's my friend."

And exactly the kind of friend he could use right about now. He wished he would have told Holmes about the letters. Then he wouldn't be in this situation. Holmes would have found Fellowmen out easily and put an end to this madness. Watson was afraid that this was the last day he was going to be alive.

He might never see Holmes again. And the thought of it made him sick to his stomach. Fellowmen didn't look as envious as before.

"I'm going to take you home with me, John. It's devilishly cold outside and I don't want you catching a chill. Let's go home and I'll warm you up by the fireplace. There's a small shop close by that sells delicious meat pies."

"And if I refuse?"

This earned Watson a grim look of disapproval. Watson must have been at least six years this man's senior. And yet Fellowmen was acting like he was the elder.

"If you refuse, then I will shoot. Then I will shoot myself. If I can't have you in life then we'll be with each other for eternity in the afterlife. I'll make sure of it."

"If we were both to die," Watson glared, "I don't believe we would go to the same place."

Fellowmen looked seriously wounded by this comment. His jaw was slackening and his eyes were wide.

"What have I done except love you? John, please don't think so ill of me. I'm in love with you. And by tonight, I will make you cry my name in bliss. You will finally get what you want. You will be so satisfied that you will forget the name Sherlock Holmes."

He said the detective's name with anger. Watson was so disgusted by what was said that he decided to make his move now, even if the gun was still placed on his forehead. He made a grab for the pistol but Fellowmen resisted. Both men's arms were high in the air, struggling to get the weapon. Grunting, the men pushed their bodies against each other, trying to knock each other off.

Watson finally managed to pry it off Fellowmen's fingers but at the last minute Fellowmen recaptured it and threw it across the allyway. Watson turned his back to retrieve the gun, which he realized a second too late was exactly what Fellowmen wanted him to do. He turned his head back to Fellowmen for a split second.

The last thing he remembered was an image of an enraged Fellowmen swinging a wooden plank. Then darkness overtook Watson as the doctor fell to the floor.

x

When he opened his eyes, the light made him flinch a little. Watson realized that he was in a bed and he was handcuffed to one end. He looked at the hand that was bounded. Pain seared through his head.

"Ah! You're awake."

With fear in his heart, Watson looked at the mad man who just entered. Watson would guess that he was at Fellowmen's house. But he didn't know where that was. When Fellowmen came closer, Watson used his last resort.

"SOMEONE HELP ME! I'M TRAPPED! HE'S MAD!"

Watson didn't normally like screaming for help but it was the only thing left he could do. Surely Fellowmen must have neighbors close by and they would go to the police when they hear the shouting.

Fellowmen didn't look alarmed but he did look a bit miffed. He pulled up a chair close to Watson and sat down in it. Watson sat up to glare at him.

"None of that now," Fellowmen whispered, "No one can hear you anyway. Don't abuse your lovely voice by shouting like that. Let's talk like civilized men."

No one could hear him. Were they in a secluded place? Watson was upset that his last plan failed him.

"About what?"

What could any civilized man have to talk about in this situation? Fellowmen smiled endearingly.

"Now we're together. I want to talk about our future. Move out of your flat, don't tell that detective about my threats of hurting anyone and live with me. Never see or talk to Holmes again. In fact, I want you to stay in this house so that I may know where you are at all times. Oh! I know. I will simply keep you here and people will assume you disappeared. I think that plan would suit us just fine, don't you? You will stay here and be available when I need you."

So much for love. Did Fellowmen not care how much Watson loved his freedom? His job?

Holmes?

Watson wanted to punch Fellowmen with his free hand but he couldn't reach. Fellowmen stood up.

"Just a moment, dear. I'll be right back."

The mad doctor left. Watson scanned the room frantically. Was there a way out? It seemed like an ordinary room with a window and a study desk and-

Oh good Lord. Watson's eyes set on something he didn't want to see. There was a table that held sex toys and gags.

Suddenly his fear clouded his judgment. He struggled against the handcuffs until his wrists were sore. Fellowmen came back with a needle in his hand. He looked at Watson calmly but somehow managed to look demented at the same time.

"Now you are going to be mine. Let me give you your medicine."

"Stay the bloody hell away from me!"

Watson's swung his free hand, trying to intimidate Fellowmen from coming closer. But Fellowmen only used this to his advantage. He grabbed the flailing hand and injected the drug rather brutally into Watson's system.

"No! What did you give me?" Watson demanded in fright.

"Shush, my love. It's not going to hurt. It will just make you calm. Hush now."

Watson's vision slowly started to blur. Objects blurred into nothing but shapes and then the shapes blurred into mixing colors. He felt hands stroking the side of his face but he couldn't resist. He didn't even know if he had a body anymore.

His muscles felt like rubber and goo that wouldn't cooperate. He had no idea where Fellowmen was.

"My love. My John. Now I will make you mine. I have waited for this day for far too long. Show yourself to me."

Watson felt a sudden chill in his legs and it took a while for his weakening state of mind to figure out what happened. Fellowmen had pulled down his trousers. His chest felt suddenly cold as well and Watson had a feeling Fellowmen somehow managed to take off his shirt and jacket despite the handcuffs.

Shivering in fear more than from the cold, Watson tried to scream but his lips wouldn't budge. It was like he forgot how to use his mouth completely. Fellowmen's shaky hand fondled his nipples.

"Nn."

It took a while for Watson to realize that he made that noise. Something warm and wet was stroking his nipples now. Fellowmen was on top of him, using his tongue.

"My dear John. You're truly delectable. I need to be inside you. I need you to spill your seed because of me. Pardon my speech, my angel, but I'm going to thrust into your tight little hole until you're begging for more. I know you want this. You must. I want it too. Let me give us both what we want."

He couldn't struggle at all. The drug was making sure he couldn't move. Watson was nothing more than a lifeless doll, paralyzed by whatever Fellowmen had injected into his veins.

He couldn't call out for help. He hadn't felt this frightened since his first battle in the army. Fellowmen was going to violate him. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"And now, John. I will claim my prize.

Watson heard shuffling. He saw the deep color of Fellowmen's eyes directing themselves to him. Watson's head was starting to feel lighter and dizzier. He lost consciousness before Fellowmen could do anything else.

x

He cursed himself for his stupidity. Something had gone terribly wrong, he could tell by the note in his hand. It was crippled to the side, meaning that Watson clutched it forcefully before writing anything down. The ink was deep enough to indicate stress from the writer. And the contents were disturbing as well.

_Holmes,_

_Something came up. I need to check on something. Don't wait for me,_

_John_

The detective bit into his pipe nervously. Something came up. Something he clearly needed to check on immediately. This 'something' must have had something to do with Watson's odd behavior lately. The way Watson would stay so silent and ponder over whatever was on his mind. Why didn't he look into this sooner?

_Don't wait for me._ Clearly Watson thought that dealing with whatever issue he had was going to take some time. What was even more obvious was that he didn't want Holmes to know about it.

But the most striking thing Holmes found on the letter was the signature. John. Not Watson. Why would Watson address himself so informally? It was his habit to sign with his last name. The fact that Watson wrote this in a hurry should've caused him to act on this habit without much thought. So why John?

Taking the pipe from his mouth, Holmes called out for Mrs. Hudson. The woman came into the room looking sour, no doubt she was still upset about the cushions that Holmes had ruined this morning due to an experiment.

Yet her expression softened when she noticed the look of concern on Holmes's face.

"Mrs. Hudson, has Dr. Watson said anything to you about leaving for something?"

The woman paused for a moment, thinking.

"Not that I remember, Mr. Holmes. Did something happen to Dr. Watson?"

Holmes gently tossed his pipe onto his armchair. Smoking wasn't going to relax him now. He looked at Mrs. Hudson directly in the eye.

"I need to investigate something. Please don't let any strangers in while I'm gone," he instructed, his voice managing to stay composed.

Mrs. Hudson's hand raise to her cheek as her mouth fell open.

"Mr. Holmes! What happened? Is Dr. Watson going to be alright? What's going on?"

During her loud line of questions Holmes had made his way over to the coat-hanger and grabbed the articles of clothing he would need to bare the cold winter afternoon.

"Mr. Holmes. Please tell me that Dr. Watson is alright," Mrs. Hudson sounded like a mother who had no idea where her young child was.

The detective turned to her.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Hudson. I feel as though Watson left because he was distress by something. Something that he withheld from me. But I will track down his location. Before I go, can you tell me if you notice anything different about Watson since yesterday?"

His interest (and his hope) was peaked when Mrs. Hudson nodded. He instinctively leaned forward, urging her to go on.

"There have been these...letters for him. Without any return address."

The gears in Holmes' head started turning at a rapid pace. Letters Watson didn't want him to know about. Were they threatening? Was the sender someone from Watson's past?

He forced himself to stop. There was no logic in making assumptions without the proper pieces to the puzzle. His worry for Watson must be causing him to forget that.

"No return address? And I assume they're nowhere to be found. Tell me Mrs. Hudson, how many letters did he receive?"

"Two. One right after your late case finished and then another this morning. I could've sworn I saw fear in his eyes when I gave him the second one but he immediately began pretending that nothing was wrong."

Holmes had no doubt that these letters had something to do with Watson's disappearance. He had to do some investigating. He would try to find the letters and if he failed, he would ask Watson's acquaintances if they had notice anything. He put the coat back on the hanger and went into Watson's room.


	4. Chapter 4

When Watson woke up, he immediately wished he hadn't. Fellowmen had his arms wrapped around his torso. Watson was facing away from the mad man. His ass ached and the very thought of it made Watson nearly vomit.

It had happened. He had been raped. He felt so disgusted and used. But worst of all, he felt weak and helpless. He couldn't protect himself at all. What kind of war veteran was he?

Watson knew that Fellowmen was awake when he felt the soft nibbling on his earlobe. Now both of Watson's arms were restrained. Not only that but his feet were tied together as well. Fellowmen had prepared for the moment the older doctor woke up, so all Watson could do was flail like a fish out of water.

Fellowmen held him in place easily. But thankfully he had stopped nibbling on Watson's ear. Watson felt the man's hot, sour breath on his face.

"My little angel. You were fantastic earlier. It was simply outstanding, the pleasure I felt. You more than exceeded my expectations. The fantasies I had about you are nothing compared to actually having you in bed."

"Let me go. Please," Watson whispered so softly that he himself almost didn't catch it. He sounded so pitiful that he was disgusted with himself.

A hand stroked his nipple. Watson would get him for this. Once he escaped, he would make Fellowmen pay for violating him. He had never been this angry with anyone before.

The hand pinched the nipple teasingly. Watson closed his eyes tightly while grinding his teeth together. He heard Fellowmen's godforsaken voice answering.

"Why would I let you go when I can't live without you? I finally have you, after all these years of wanting. You are mine. I love you so much."

"If you love me, you'll let me go."

There was a pause, like Fellowmen was considering this. But Watson knew better than to get his hopes up. Fellowmen went to the other nipple.

"Stop!" cried Watson.

This earned him a sharp slap on the rear. Fellowmen would indeed pay, thought Waston again. No one treated him like this.

"What did I tell you about abusing your voice, love?" Fellowmen sternly scolded.

"You will not get away with this. You will get caught."

Fellowmen's tongue trailed across Watson's cheek, chilling Watson with saliva. The mad man's finger circled around Watson's nipple like a vulture circling around the sky. Then the hand that slapped him started rubbing against his buttocks. Watson was completely exposed. He had not a single article of clothing on him.

Watson was suddenly afraid when he felt the hand on his ass. The cold hand dared to rub inside the crack and Watson shivered from fright.

"No, stop."

The hand withdrew. Fellowmen's weight on the bed disappeared. Watson watched the younger man leave the room and come back with a needle.

No.

Watson struggled.

"Don't! Don't even think about it, you scoundrel! Let me go. Right now."

"I'm just going to give you some medicine," Fellowmen told him lightly. He came around and injected it into Watson.

Once again Watson's vision blurred and his muscles went slack.

"I'm not giving you as much as last time. I don't want you passing out again."

Unable to move, Watson couldn't do anything when Fellowmen got back on the bed and took sick pleasure in kissing Watson's lips. He entered a tongue inside Watson's mouth. As much as Watson wanted to, he couldn't figure out how to bite down.

Fellowmen had turned Watson's body around so that he was facing him, twisting the cuffs that were hooked around the pole from the head of the bed. The younger, madder doctor withdrew from his mouth and focused his attention back on Watson's nipples. Fear ignited inside Watson's head. Inwardly he was screaming for help. Couldn't anyone help him? Couldn't he do something? Was he just going to lie down while a mad man used and discarded him like a common prostitute?

He heard shuffling and saw Fellowmen's blur moving to do something. Watson's leg was then brought up above Fellowmen's hip. Watson felt a coated finger enter inside him.

No no no no. Not again. If there was a God, couldn't he be saved? He wanted to close his eyes, to yell, to cry, to kill, to die. He wanted Holmes to help him.

Fellowmen's erection edged inside him, then entered so brutally that Watson managed to whimper. Grunting, Fellowmen thrust in and out slowly at first, then he went faster after a little while.

"My love! I can't believe how I feel when I'm inside you! I...I..." he trailed off and resumed his torture in silence.

Watson bared it with every ounce of his strength. Finally, after what seemed like several eons, Fellowmen released his seed into Watson. Watson felt the burning acid of vomit rise in his throat.

His vision was still too blurry to see straight but when Fellowmen leaned in to kiss his nose, he saw the infernal man's painted eyes.

"John. You are a true angel. I will make love to you every single night. Do you remember back at boarding school, when you would receive love letters? Do you know who sent them? Do you know who loved you enough to pour his heart out on paper for you?"

He didn't get a response. Watson hoped he didn't expect one from a man he had just drugged. He felt Fellowmen's thumb right along his jaw, then another kiss on his nose. Before, Watson had the fortune of being unconscious during the rape. Now that he experienced it firsthand, he felt like he was going to retch everything he had ever eaten in his life, even though as a doctor he knew that wasn't possible.

God, Holmes come quick. Watson felt like dying.

"It was me," Fellowmen continued, "I hated it when other boys had your attention, John. I simply hated it. Like that goddamn Imhoff. I was glad to get rid of him."

Get rid of him? Watson thought Imhoff committed suicide. That what was stated by the police when they found his body and noticed a single blade stuck against his chest. Watson knew Imhoff had trouble with his parents, despite his carefree attitude.

Dear God, what did Fellowmen do?

"But not to worry, love. He's gone now. He won't bother us anymore. Our love is too strong for people like him and Sherlock Holmes. I think we should take a bath together. I'll get you something to eat afterward."

x

Holmes did find the letters that he assumed caused Watson to leave. The only problem was, the letters were torn to shreds and thrown away. Holmes collected all the pieces and analyzed them. He could see part of an 's' and what may have been a 'b.' The shape of the pieces would help Holmes figure out where they would go.

It took him much longer than he would have liked but he managed to lay them out carefully on the floor. He crouched down and gazed at his finished project.

His heart sank when he read the demented notes. A stalker. Watson had a stalker on his hands. And a dangerous one at that, if this stalker really was willing to kill someone just because Watson refused to shave.

Holmes shot upright and dashed out the door. Watson should have told him the moment he received the first letter. Threats be damned, Watson still should have told him. Now his friend was in this alone.

The most logical step to take next was to go to Watson's old boarding school. Fortunately, he knew exactly where that was. But he was so worried that he forgot to call a hansom. It wasn't until he made it in front of the building that he realized he had ran all the way and was out of breath.

Stupid, he told himself. Why was his concern for Watson making him take such irrational action? There was something painful in his heart, telling him that it might already be too late to save Watson. Holmes ignored that feeling for as long as he could. He ran into the building and saw the man at the desk. The man stared at him in concern.

"What the devil is the matter?" he asked.

"Did a man come here earlier?" asked Holmes, not wanting to waste any time.

The man blinked.

"What?"

"Don't be a fool. I need to know if a man came by earlier. He may have or have not a mustache. Asking about the residents of this boarding school."

"Calm down," the man pleaded softly, "Yes, there was a man who fits that description."

"For God's sake. When was this?"

"About three hours ago. He was asking to see the records and I told him that he couldn't, so he left."

Three hours ago. Holmes prayed that there still might be time to catch up with Watson before the crazed stalker did.

"Did he have a mustache?"

"No sir. But he looked very distraught that I couldn't let him see the records."

"Show me the records."

"I'm sorry sir but I can't-"

"Goddamn it. I'll go to the police and have them force you to hand them over if I must but I pray you will save me the trouble."

The man gaped at him in shock.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. Now please let me see the records."

He couldn't waste any more time than necessary. The man processed this information in silence, staring down at the floor and taking a breath.

"The detective in the papers? Look I'll...I'll let you look for a few moments but that's it. I can't get into trouble with this, alright?"

x

"John, are you hungry? I have those meat pies that I promised you."

How did the man expect him to eat when he was completely bound to the bed? Fellowmen smiled. He held a plat full of pies in his hand. The crazed doctor took a seat in front of Watson, placing the plate gently on his lap. He held up a pie up to Watson's lips.

"Are you barking mad? I'm not letting you feed me," Watson exclaimed.

Fellowmen's smile fell and his eyes narrowed. The pie went back on the plate. Watson glared at his rapist, not flinching under Fellowmen's harsh gaze.

"John. I want to feed you. Let me do this, my sweet. Let me spoil you a bit."

"Go to hell."

Fellowmen wasn't angry before but now he looked infuriated. His painted eyes were demented and flashing. He got out of the seat and threw the plate against the wall. A loud clatter and pieces of glass and the pies flew in every direction.

Watson should say he had been expecting that kind of reaction but in truth he was unprepared. Fellowmen was so enraged that his chest was heaving up and down dramatically.

"Fine, you ungrateful whore. You either decide to eat or you will starve. I don't care which, you're mine either way. I'm going out to work and by the time I come back, I hope that you will see sense. Until then, you can just stay hungry."

Fellowmen grabbed the chair and hit Watson's thigh with it. The sudden pain emitted a cry from the war veteran. Fellowmen continued to beat him with it. Watson never screamed but he did groan.

After Fellowmen was finished, he stormed out of the room. He threw the chair onto the floor. It cracked a little on impact. Watson felt like Fellowmen's attacks would leave a few bruises. His flesh was already tender from the beating.

But at least Fellowmen was gone. In his drugged state, Watson was forced to take a bath with the crazed man. Fellowmen dressed him in some sleep wear. Embarrassing but at least he was no longer naked.

Watson looked at the handcuffs. There just had to be a way he could escape them. What would Holmes do? His mind searched around the room. He tried not to look at the table with sex toys for too long. Holmes would use any and every resource available to him. But what could Watson use?

He looked at the chair. One leg had split in two and the uneven cut of board gave Watson an idea.

A jagged piece of that chair would be a perfect weapon. All he had to do was stab the monster in the eye and let him bleed out. Watson was a little put off by how violent his thoughts had become. He immediately justified himself. What other choice did he have? Fellowmen gave him no other options except to allow himself to be raped continuously. If he could just grab a piece-

But how? He didn't have his hands. He tried to think of a way to get Fellowmen to release him, if even for a moment. None of the plans in his work sounded plausible.

Frustrated, Watson sank in despair as his only plan sank with him.

x

Holmes managed to memorize all the names of the boys younger that Watson who would've seen him during school. His next plan was to visit where Watson worked. Since it was his friend's day off, he knew he wouldn't find him there. But he might find a clue.

He entered the building quickly and spotted Anstruther by the desk. The man offered him a plain smile.

"Hello. You are Sherlock Holmes, correct? How may I help you?"

Holmes took a moment to study the man that was so willing to do Watson's rounds while Watson was helping him on a case. He didn't seem the type to abduct anyone. But with Watson in danger, Holmes wasn't taking any chances. Time to question him.

"My dear friend, Watson, has disappeared."

Anstruther stared up at him and blinked.

"I just saw him yesterday, coming back from a few errands. He and Fellowmen were doing nothing since we hadn't had any patients lately."

"Fellowmen?" Holmes didn't like that name. He remembered seeing it. "Who's Fellowmen?"

"A new doctor. He's quite young, if I do say so myself. He doesn't talk to me much but he's taken quite a shine to Watson."

Holmes's skin was starting to crawl. Watson and his stalker had been communicating. Watson could be in more danger than he imagined. Holmes tried to stay calm. Going crazy like he did at the boarding school would not help matters. He needed to keep his thoughts in line if he wanted to save his dear friend.

"Does this Fellowmen work today?"

"He's supposed to come by later," Anstruther told him offhandedly, "Why do you ask? Do you think he might know where Watson is?"

Holmes took a few steps toward a chair for waiting patients and sat down in it, all the while crossing his arms across his chest. His lips pursed in thought and he stayed silent for a long time before responding.

"I think it might be a possibility. I will wait for him."

"Could I offer you something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Holmes was too worked up to relax with a drink.

The next hour was painful to bear but Holmes's patience was rewarded. From the door came a young doctor with the most brilliant blue eyes Holmes had ever seen. Holmes stood up and the doctor paused when he saw the detective.

The two stared each other down. Holmes noticed that the man's sleeves had traces of wood shavings. His finger had a long slit, as if there had been a rather big splinter there. The man had been clutching something wooden not long before he entered this building. His other hand was bandaged.

Holmes turned his attention on the man's eyes and he couldn't help but notice anger and hatred in them. The anger and hatred was veiled behind a look of false politeness but Holmes knew how to read expressions with a critical viewpoint.

Anstruther smiled at the newcomer.

"Hello Fellowmen. This is Sherlock Holmes. He's a friend of Dr. Watson's."

Fellowmen grimaced and held out a hand. Holmes shook it. Their eyes never looked away from each other.

"It's a pleasure to see the famed detective," Fellowmen said, "Is Dr. Watson well?"

"I don't know," Holmes told him bitterly, "He's been missing for a few hours. I think he's in some kind of trouble."

"What makes you say so? Did he say something to you?" Fellowmen couldn't hide his suspicion from Holmes.

"No. I figured it out myself. He's been acting weird so I looked in his trash and found some pieces to a couple of letters. I managed to put them back together and find out what they said."

Holmes needed Fellowmen to be afraid. A frightened opponent almost always acted without thinking. He also needed to let Fellowmen know that Watson didn't tell him anything. Holmes didn't want Fellowmen to get angry at Watson.

"What did the letters say?"

"He's in trouble. I need to find him."

The two let go of each others' hands. Fellowmen seemed embarrassed. He probably just realized that he had been holding onto Holmes's hand a little too long. Holmes already knew that he had his man.

Fellowmen pretended to be concerned. Anstruther was now engrossed in a medical book.

"That's very troubling news. I'm willing to help however I can."

That was exactly what Holmes wanted to hear, thought the detective as he withheld a smirk. Holmes sat back down and offered Fellowmen the chair next to him. The other obliged.

"Actually, there is something. I have a few questions to ask you."

He noticed that, much to his satisfaction, Fellowmen was starting to look nervous.

"Alright. What did you need to ask?"

"How long have you known Watson?"

Fellowmen was cautious, Holmes could tell. The man knew that this was going to be a trap.

"A few days. Why do you ask?"

"It's just a standard question," Holmes replied smoothly, "In the days that you've known him, as he seem a bit off lately?"

"What do you mean?"

"Has he seemed...afraid?"

"No," Fellowmen smiled, "A war veteran like him should have nothing to fear."

"He told you about that, did he?"

"Why yes. He did," Fellowmen was smug.

"But he can still be wary of danger, you know."

"Of course. There are a lot of crazy men out there. But I still think Watson can fend them off. You shouldn't worry if he's only been gone a few hours."

Holmes pressed his hands together and rested his chin on them.

"Why do you say crazy men specifically?"

Fellowmen's sly smile fell. Holmes smirked.

"Because it's a very strange coincidence. The letters were from a crazy man."

"I could only assume so," Fellowmen defended himself, "Are you suspecting me just because of what I said? What other danger could befall a man from letters alone unless the letters were from a crazy man?"

"The letters could have been from a dear friend, who warned Watson of impending danger. They didn't have to be from the danger itself."

Fellowmen was starting to crack. Holmes could see this clearly. The mad man was tapping his foot and licking his lips.

"I didn't think of that. But that doesn't make me the kidnapper."

"Who said anything about kidnapping?" asked Holmes.


End file.
